On My Way Greeting Joy
Gust wheezes behind the sill, fog on pane
I accede to its drift while moonglow dies ;
This heart longs for you, but would breaths refrain
From asking suchlike thoughts, when time implies—
A goodbye ebbing, cast, by rippled gloom
That drizzles speak of broken ties, of chill;
Nebulous in hours ashed, my nights exhume
A stygian waste trashing days, pungent and ill.
O gruesome the maze through cloudburst —although
My hope unbounded bequeaths inner peace ;
To grant evening shadow its afterglow
Until daybreak hails new comfort of ease.
On my way greeting life, joy always wins
Even if most rainfall ends or begins.
Contest No 500 of Brian Strand
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